


The Three R's

by levendis



Series: Prompt Fics [88]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crack, F/F, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:20:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7655371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levendis/pseuds/levendis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Repetition, repetition, repetition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Three R's

**Author's Note:**

> for anon, who prompted: Clara/Clara during that TARDIS minisode. Actual smut. I've seen so many people implying and joking. But come on. How'd she get herself into bed. What happened. Just do it.

“So you’re me,” Clara says, looking herself up and down. Same outfit, same body, face a little grumpier but recognizable. “Not a clone, or a robot, or whatever.”  
  
Other-her nods. “Yep. I’m you. You’re me. We’re us. I think.”  
  
“I hate this fucking ship,” Clara says.  
  
The Tardis whines, sulks. And another Clara walks into the console room.  
  
Clara-2 looks a little miffed that she’s no longer the most recent. Clara-1 - no, wait, fuck that. The original, the actual Clara Oswald. The only Clara that matters is smugly happy that she will always have been the first. These other hers, even if they are her, are spun off from her. She is the fixed point.  
  
Clara-3 glares at them both. “So this is still happening, then. Fantastic.”  
  
“The hazards of traveling through time and space,” Clara-2 says sagely.  
  
Simultaneously, Clara says: “Does this mean that I’m gonna have to go have this whole conversation over again, as both of you?”  
  
“Yes,” Clara-2 says. “Mmm-hmm,” says Clara-3.  
  
They all turn and stare at the center column, the obnoxious blue of it. Clara-2 flips two fingers, Clara-3 makes a ‘so what about deez’ gesture.  
  
“So this is happening,” Clara says. “And it continues to happen.”  
  
“Just waiting on Clara-4,” Clara-3 says.  
  
“And you know what I’m thinking, right. Because you’re me and you’ve done this before.” Clara hopes, anyway. But if she’s her and they’re her and whatever - this is an opportunity, is all.  
  
"Obviously,” Clara-2 replies.  
  
“I feel like this took less time the first time around,” Clara-3 adds. And she puts her arm around Clara-2’s waist, pulls her in. Kisses her slowly, deeply. Clara-2 moans.  
  
Clara, the Clara, official #1 Clara, bites her lip and tries to get her mind in order. “If you’re doing what you’re doing because you’ve done it before, then shouldn’t I at least. Do it first?”  
  
“Too slow,” Clara-3 says, her hand cupping Clara-2’s face, thumb sliding into her mouth.  
  
“Some events just exist without cause,” Clara-2 says, in between gasped breaths.  
  
Clara-3 - the eldest, most experienced - the leader, if you will, of this - reaches out and tugs Clara-1 (Clara, just Clara, she’s the only one that counts) into her embrace. Clara-2 leaning out of the kiss, spit stringing from her mouth, lips now pressed against Clara’s.  
  
Is that what she tastes like? Is that what she smells like? Probably, maybe. She slips her hand under Clara-2’s - Clara-3?’s - under one of their blouses, pulling the fabric up and over her head, fingertips rough and firm against her nipples. Twisting until she bucks under her. Clara-whatever, predictably, moans. She knows what she likes.  
  
There’s a hand sliding between her thighs, pressing up against her cunt. One of them, either of them, her in the future. Soon she’ll be the one pulling her panties down, thumb confidently hard on her clit. She’ll be doing this to herself. And, fuck, that does something for her. A Clara pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses between and over her breasts, another Clara pulling her head back with one hand, fucking her roughly with the other. Two hands, now, with different (ish) owners, fighting over ownership of her clit. One Clara going down to her knees, hands on her hips and her tongue licking, lips sucking. Clara-the-Clara following her, a chain of oral sex, the haphazard fuckpile. She knows what she likes.    
  
She’s vaguely aware of Clara-4 walking in, sighing, squirming - she has to be soaked-wet-but-in-a-mildly-uncomfortable-way by now, fucked-out and over it. Clara looks up from her position in between Clara-whatever’s legs, her mouth and chin slick, sticky, and she grins.  
  
Clara-4 rolls her eyes, walks around them, the three of her. She puts her hand on Clara’s neck and pushes down, holding her against Clara-whatever’s cunt.  
  
“So this just keeps going forever,” the other Clara says, idly playing with Clara’s - actual the Clara’s - hair. “I should go get some water, food maybe? Don’t lie, I know you’re hungry.” She swats Clara’s belly - Clara Prime, the one true - pats Best Clara on the stomach as she goes, walking backwards towards the kitchen.


End file.
